


Quiet treatment

by RookieRossiSparrow



Category: Pentatonix, Scomiche - Fandom, Superfruit, ptx - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mitch - Freeform, Mute - Freeform, PTSD, PTX, Pentatonix - Freeform, Romance, Scomiche, Scott - Freeform, psychiatric hospital
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-02 21:25:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10953021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RookieRossiSparrow/pseuds/RookieRossiSparrow
Summary: A drunken kiss that changed things and two fatal accidents changed their lives for the worst.An accident leaves Mitch in a hospital, and Scott completely alone with only the truth, anger and a bottle.





	1. Chapter 1

The music, like always was loud, the bass vibrating the floors beneath him.

It wasn't as crowded as it usually was on a Sunday night, but there was a handful of men that were decent enough to take home, and they looked easy enough too. Though decent enough in looks, they all appeared to be off of their face, drunk and sloppy and he wasn't really in the mood to be taking care of incompetent adults tonight, he did that every day at work and it truly exhausted him.

_Nope. Not tonight._ Sighing in defeat, he finished up his drink and headed out of the double glass doors.

The cool breeze hit his face so suddenly, almost knocking him over and giving him a light headed feeling. He wasn't' drunk, but slightly buzzed. Work was tomorrow, and turning up with a hangover... Again, that would definitely get him fired, he was, as his boss put it, **'** walking on thin ice **'**.

He had only turned up late, and with a hangover once, but apparently one time was enough. _Asshole_

He made that mistake on a Thursday night when he _successfully_ out drank his work colleagues, a proud moment at the time but just like any night out, he regretted it in the morning when he woke with a pounding headache and a mouth as dry as a desert.

His colleagues, though, thought the whole situation was drop to the floor funny when he turned up 50 minutes late, wearing the exact shirt from the night before, unbrushed hair and a pair of shades that covered up his red, tired eyes.

He loved his job, the rewarding and prideful feeling he got for it was something he enjoyed more than anything, even a good night out. But at the same time, it was completely exhausting and stressful. He worked 6 days a week, and started each day bright and early at 7:00 am, and finished at 11:00 pm. For anyone, that'd be a tough schedule.

Drinking, alone or with colleagues was somewhat of a get-a-way, time to clear his head and relax if you will... More so when alone though.

The stress of it all outweighed the rewarding feeling without a doubt. Quitting wasn't an option too, without work there was nothing else for him, _literally_.

_First of all, I'd lose my home, and disappoint her. No. Not going to happen. Not a damn chance in hell._

Sighing at his own dramatic musings, he fished out his cigarettes and removed one from the pack, placing it in between his teeth. Not healthy, but he only smoked when stressed, or after drinking. _EWhich is pretty much all the time, idiot_.

"Got a spare?"

Scott cursed aloud, startled by the sudden voice that appeared from nowhere. Seconds ago the street was empty, now stood in front of him was a young woman and a young man.

He almost felt guilty for complaining about his tiredness, because the pair in front of him looked completely worn out. The definition of tired.

Dark bags lay underneath their tired eyes. "A cigarette. Have you got a spare?" she repeated with a small polite smile.

Scott approached closer. The sight of them both up close surprised him. The street lamp lit up their features well enough so he could see.

They looked equally tired, bags hung below their eyes. The young woman's blonde hair was long, matted and decorated with crunchy street leaves from the ground. _Why was she on the ground?_ Her clothes were torn and covered in mud. _Why where they co-_

His eyes moved from the girl to her friend stood next to her. His clothes, just like his friends were torn and muddy, ruined. His hair which was shaved at either side, leaving just the fringe to flop lazily at the left side of his face was tatted, but not too much. If it weren't for the girls smile, he would have thought they'd just returned from a war.

"Thank you." she grinned, taking a cigarette from the box, "do you have a pair of scissors?"

_What the fuck?_

The question caught him off guard. It wasn't every day he got asked for scissors on the street.

"Uhh, no, I usually don't carry those around with me, I-"

"Okay." she crouched down and pulled out a worn box of matches from the inside of her cowboy leather boot.

Scott looked back at the boy, who's eyes were firmly glued to the floor as if there was some unknown treasure he was searching for, his expression; emotionless, but his eyes held sadness.

"Oh don't mind him. He won't talk to you." she said, striking the match and handing the lit cigarette to her silent friend, "he smokes, though."

As the boy held the cigarette to his lips, Scott's eyes fell down to his wrist, noticing the dried blood on his sleeve.

"Thank you, Mister." the girl quickly grabbed her friend's hand and walked away, fast. Her attitude changed faster than the snap of a finger. Scott opened his mouth to call out, to ask if he was... They were okay, but it was too late.

The pair disappeared into the alley, leaving a trail of thick smoke behind them.

_It's my day off_. He reminded himself and continued his walk back home.

Once home, he laid in his bed, unable to sleep. The image of the sad boy kept reappearing in his head. Why? He wasn't sure, but there was a nagging feeling that he couldn't pinpoint

Should he have done something? Called someone? Took them in?

They certainly didn't look ok.

He groaned into his pillow and sat up.

What was the point? He had to be up in 3 hours. He reached for the tv remote and turned on some show about... Something. He wasn't interested. His eyes were on the TV, but nothing seemed to be going in, his thoughts still on the pair he met in the street.


	2. The file

_It was maudlin... Complete self-pity and he knew it. What was left, though? Nothing. It sure felt like it._

_He took a bigger gulp of the bottle in his hand and grimaced. His head drifted further into the abyss of downright sorrow as he continued his stumble towards the bridge. The rain poured on endlessly, soaking every inch of him. It all felt so hopeless, any type of relief was always thwarted by the utter agony and sadness that followed him around like a cloud above his head._

_His head was mangled, and his mind numb._

_The smiles and the 'yup, I'm fine' only masked his despair, it was a façade that he hid behind, all for everyone else around. Why bother them? But that exact façade was breaking, and he couldn't fix it. Attempting to try was like taping a fish tank with crappy cheap sellotape._

_He was running out of energy to carry on._

_He approached the bridge railings and rested his forehead against the cool metal that was covered in rain water. If someone were to know about his thoughts and feelings, their expected question would be 'why do you feel like that', and he had pondered the question himself all the time, many, many times but still, he couldn't find an answer... He just... Felt it, that was it._

_Did there really have to be a reason, an answer? Can't someone just feel sad for the sake of it? Is that possible?_

_"Scott, is that you?"_

_Shit. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and turned around. It was Ben, the new trainee._

_"Jesus Christ, what are you doing out here, in this weath-" his eyes dropped to the bottle that was firmly clutched in Scott's hand, and by the quick change in reaction on his face, he realised what was going on. Fantastic. This is what I need... For everyone to see how much of a weak and pathetic piece of shit I am, gr-_

_"My cars over there" he pointed behind him, "do you want me to take you home or-"_

_"You should go, Rook," Scott said, holding the bottle do his lips and taking a drink. It was sour, and it wasn't helping but he couldn't stop. Why would he?_

_He was caught, there was no need to plaster a smile on his face, "get back in your car, and go."_

_"I don't think I can do that."_

_No matter how many times he told the trainee to leave, it didn't happen. Ben stood in the same spot with his arms crossed, waiting patiently. So damn fucking stubborn._

_He gave in and followed him to the Audi. Ben drove for what felt like hours, he attempted to strike up conversations about work, but Scott ignored him and continued to drink his bottle, which was nearly empty and stare out of the window, watching the white lines on the road go by like Flash._

_Ben parked the car, turning off the engine. "Scott, works tomorrow and I should tell Joe about this, but I won't."_

_"I don't give a shit," Scott muttered. He did give a fuck, despite what he said, work was really the only thing he had. He ignored Bens further attempt in conversation and got out the car, slamming the door shut._

_Back home. There wasn't anything here either. He lived alone. It was the way it has always been, and always will be._

_He stumbled towards the bathroom and opened up the mirrored cabinet that hung on the wall. Without bothering to check the labels of the many tubes, he picked up his pain medication that he stole from work and slammed it shut causing the mirror to instantly break. Shards of glass fell in the sink, but he brushed it off and popped the lid of the tube. He didn't care._

_It was abrupt. He wanted to do it, he really did, it'd save him from the pain but, when he looked down into the sink, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the shards of broken mirror._

_There was work. That was the only thing he could think of, it wasn't enough, but it had to be, they needed him... The patients._

_It was a catch 22. To stay for his patients and suffer at the same time, or end it all and let go, leaving the people who needed him, who relied on him. Letting them down... The thought of it only made him feel worse._

_He exhaled deeply and threw the pills down the toilet, flushing it before his mind changed again. His heart and head still ached, but that was the price he had to pay._

"Earth to Scott!" Jennifer snapped her fingers, successfully gaining his attention. "Are you okay?" _There's that question._

"Yeah." Scott cleared his throat and flicked through the folders in front of him.

"Ok then." she shrugged, shrugging her handbag over a shoulder, "I'm going to get coffee, want anything?"

"No, thanks."

"I'll have a coffee," Ben said, handing her some money. Scott watched her leave before letting out a sigh.

"You ok?" _and again._

"Yeah, Rook, I'm good." though it was only twice, he was getting tired of hearing that question. "what are these?"

"I've been here 2 years, you're not going to let go of the whole 'Rook' thing, are you?"

Scott shook his head with a laugh, "it's stuck."

"Whatever. Uhm, Joe said you need to read through them because we have new patients coming in a few days."

"How many days are a few days?" he really didn't want to deal with new patients, it had taken so long for the patients that were there all ready to settle and trust him. And truthfully, he was pretty much fond of them.

"He said in 3 days" Ben recalled, "I think there's only 4 of them, he shared out the files, though. I took two, you have two. Oh, and do you want me to check in on Max, or-"

"I'll to it." Scott slid the files under his arm and made his way down the long hallway, towards the door he was aiming for. He knocked twice and opened it up.

"Nope!" Max said straight away, "nope, nope, I'm not taking it. It's not even 11:00 am yet!"

"What are you talking about, Max?"

"Pssh!" he scoffed, tapping three times on the window so the birds flew away, "he only went and took my notepad! My drawings!"

"Who took them?"

"Tony, big fat head ugly Tony. Beer gut belly Tony. Flubber Tony. Gross. Flabby, roly-poly Tony!"

Scott bit the inside of his cheek to stop the laughing that was threating to bubble out. He had to remain professional, no laughing. Tony was a colleague and he wasn't fat, but it was certainly amusing to hear it nonetheless.

"Well, why did he take, there must have been a reason?" Scott asked. No staff member would take anything belonging to the patients unless whatever it was could be used to harm themselves, but a notepad was nothing, and Max carried it around with him everywhere... It was like his safety blanket.

"There wasn't! The chunky bastard has it out for me, he wants me dead, I know it. Give me a pen, I'll jab it in his eye."

"He doesn't. I'll talk to him, try and get your notepad back-"

"Give me a pen. Or pencil. I'll draw on the walls, I'll draw on the walls and show him, then I'll jab it in his eye. I need my notepad back Scott. I swear on Jesus, if he comes in here, I will stab him with the fork I have under my pillow-" he snapped his mouth shut right away, realising his mistake.

Scott lifted up his pillow and took the fork with a sigh. This wasn't the first time Max had stolen utensils from the dinner hall. Nobody knew why, but that's what he did. Max was known for his panic attacks, his ranting and rambling, and stealing.

After checking the teen over if he'd hurt himself, Scott checked out of the building and drove home. A silent journey, no music, he never played music.

He was hungry, tired, and needed a shower, but first, the files had to be read and checked over, so he settled down on the sofa, with a crappy microwaved dinner. The TV played quietly in the background, purely for the noise.

He scanned the page, not bothering to read it all. He wanted to see what he was dealing with, but he didn't want to waste time reading irrelevant information, these things were often filled with that. There was always tomorrow.

**Name of Patient** : **Mitch Coby Grassi**

**Date of Birth** : ** 24|7|1992**

**Gender** : **Male**

Scott yawned and scanned through the ' **History of Present Illness** '.

It read that he was 20 years of age; something he could have worked out by the date. _Irrelevant_.

He had been cooped in a hospital for a long 6 years, and in those 6 years, he hadn't spoken a word to the staff, though they claim he has a close friend and they were inseparable. They had both many times snuck out of the hospital during nights, only to be found in the early morning, walking the streets.

_How the fuck? Irresponsible staff...Idiots._ Bipolar, recently assumed schizophrenia, Anxiety, high depression... _Blah blah blah_

He flipped the page and saw a sticky note that was stuck over the patient's picture, it was from Joe and it read ' _report seems sloppy, observe patient and write a new one up_ '. He was certainly right, the report was a mess, but observing meant spending days on end with the new patient.

Scott sighed and ripped the sticky note from the picture.

He froze, instantly recognising the face. The cheekbones, the hair, the sad eyes. Quickly, he grabbed the other file, opening it up and flipping over to the picture. It was her. Blonde hair, smile, tired eyes.

He knew there was something about those two, and he knew he should have done something.


	3. Max pt.1

"I'm not doing it." Max declared, "not until I get my pad back."  
Scott pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. All he has to do is take his medication. Why did he have to make things so difficult?  
This had been going on for a long 20 minutes but it felt much longer.  
His head felt heavy, and he'd only checked into work 3 hours ago. He wanted to go home and lay down, sleep. Even though he knew all well it wouldn't expel the ache in itching in his head but it would be better than dealing with the raised voices and ratings from Max.  
"You said you'd deal with it!"  
Why were his ears so sensitive all of a sudden? Everything sounded 100% louder, every word making him flinch.  
"You don't get it. Without it, I am... You said you would get it for me three days ago, I need it back. I need it back right now, I-"  
"I'll get you a new drawing pad if you take it." he bribed.  
Wrong, of course, but it was desperate measures, he needed to get out of the room as soon as possible.  
His head was throbbing in his skull. It wasn't the sharp kind of pain, but more of a tedious pounding... With a jackhammer, over and over again... Never ending.

It started when he woke this morning, and he tried taking pain relief, but no luck came of that.  
Max looked back apprehensively, "When? Today?"  
"I'll pick one up tonight, and make sure you get it tomorrow morning, Max." Great. That meant a trip to the store after work instead of going straight home.  
"No, you won't... You said that-"  
"I will just take this, I promise."  
Without any hesitation, Max took the bribe and swallowed the pill down with a gulp of water.  
There was plenty of stubborn people in this world, and Max was one of them.  
Scott left the room, closing the door behind him and cringing at the squeak.  
He was late. Only 5 minutes to be exact, but 5 minutes to Joe is an hour.

"You forgot the-"  
"Not now, Mason, I think Jennifer is in the green room, go talk to her." He didn't have time for this. Mason was sweet, and one of the patients that he was fond of, but he was already late.  
"But Scott, you left-"  
"Mason, I'll talk to you when I'm finished, okay?"

The blue room as expected sat one of the new patients in it, that so happened to be the sad boy from that night.  
Scott hadn't really stopped thinking about him, about them both actually. They were intriguing, especially him.  
Luckily enough, Joe wasn't there to witness his lateness this time.  
"Glad you could join." Ben said acerbically, "Let's get started."  
And so the session began. It was a strange situation, usually, Scott did them.

It didn't go as swimmingly as he would have liked.  
Ben started off with the questions that were required to be asked, 'how are you feeling?' was one of them.  
Scott cringed at that. Hypocritical really because he hated being asked that question but he found himself asking patients on a daily basis how they were feeling.

There was no response, Not a single word.  
It made sense, really, his file did say he was a mute, though Scott didn't entirely believe that. The whole file seemed sketchy, rushed and incomplete.  
There was something about the boy, maybe he needed trust. That made sense, too. When Max first arrived, he didn't say a word either, not to anyone. Scott worked weeks on end to earn the teens trust and now it seemed impracticable to shut him up.

It was quite obvious the session was going nowhere after 40 minutes of unanswered questions and one sides conversations. The boy didn't even take his eyes from the wooden table. He was committed. It was almost impressive actually.  
The room fell into silence as Ben tried to think of what to say next.  
If it weren't for the company Scott could have fallen asleep right then and there.  
"I got nothing." Ben said aloud and stood, "drink?"  
Unprofessional, but Scott nodded. He was thirsty and his head still ached. "Bring by some Midrin."  
Ben gave him a questioning look but left anyways.

Scott sat back in his seat, studying the boy who sat across from him.  
There. His eyes spotted the bracelet he wore. A rubber band hung loosely around his skinny wrist, etched into it, in pink writing was the familiar word 'Surfboard'.  
So he was a Beyonce fan. Great, Scott loved the Queen herself.  
He took note of the little fact for next time. The session was over.  
"I think that's enough for today, Mitch." Scott said as he stood, "do you want to follow me, I'll show you to your room."  
Without a word, Mitch stood and followed slowly behind.

His room wasn't anything special. One bed, one small set of drawers for his clothes and a book shelf that was glued to the wall.  
Some patients had less, and some had more, it all depended on their mental state.  
Mitch span slowly doing a 360, scanning the room. He didn't look happy, nor sad about it.  
"Someone will be by later to make a list of what you need, such as soap, shampoo, et cetera. The green room is available to you until 8:00 pm, there's a TV, pool table-"  
"I need a cigarette and a lighter."  
Okay. He didn't expect a word, let alone a request like that.  
"You can't smoke here," Scott said, clearing his throat.  
Mitch turned around, making eye contact for the first time. "Why not?"  
Good question. "Because it isn't... Good for you." It wasn't allowed because it was another way for the patients to harm themselves.  
"You had no problem giving me one the last time I saw you." he responded immediately.

If Joe were to find out that he had given a patient a cigarette, he'd no doubt be in trouble for that too. Though, in his defence, he had no idea the boy was a patient who had just ran away from a hospital.  
"That was my mistake. I didn't know you were a-"  
"A turbulent idiot?" the boy suggested.  
"What, no, I di-"

"Scott," Ben appeared, panting as if he'd just ran in the Olympics. "C.R"  
Both Scott and Ben bolted out of the room.  
CR was code red. He followed Ben down the long hallway until coming to a stop.  
Max's room?  
"He's locked himself in" Ben explained in puffs of breaths, "Jen and Kenny are looking for the keys, Tony had them but I don't know where he is"  
Scott pulled on the handle and budged at the door several times.  
"How the fuck did he lock himself in?" he muttered to himself.  
"I tried to tell you," Mason said quietly from behind, fidgeting his thumbs, "he smashed the glass cup too. I saw him."  
No.  
Scott pounded on the door, calling out his name but only got a muffled inaudible response. He opened his mouth to ask who had given the teen a glass cup, but it was him. He was in such a rush to leave the room, he'd forgotten to take the cup back.  
He swallowed down the regret and pounded on the door some more.  
"He said he needed _it_ back" Mason added, "what did he need back?" he shook his head, losing interest and ran away, muttering something about the tv in the green room.

The attention span of a fish, that one.

Scott used his shoulder and forced the door open a small bit. Stacked, blocking the entrance was a chair that the teen had gotten from the green room and his set of drawers.  
Ben slid his foot into the small opening and knocked the legs of the chair over. Finally, the doorway cleared enough for them both to rush inside.

Scott ignored the scattered glass that was below his feet and hurried to the teen who was sat on the floor against the wall with a sharp shard of the broken glass clutched in his hand.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This was his fault, he left the glass in the room and he never listened to Max, he was in too much of a rush to get out. This was his fault.  
Scott used his own two hands to apply pressure on the bloodied wrist as Ben ran to get more help.  
It wasn't in Max's nature to harm himself, but as he sat with the teen Scott replayed the week over in his head. The signs were there and he missed them all, he was too wrapped up in his own head...  
The whole idea of someone harming themselves over a drawing pad would be seen as stupid to outside eyes, but this drawing pad was in a sense, Max.  
He never parted with it. Whenever he was happy, angry, sad; he'd draw to express those emotions because expressing them aloud was too difficult for him.  
He should have known this would happen.  
"Didn't mean to" Max breathed out, his skin turning a pasty colour, "swear... Didn't"  
"You're going to be fine" Scott tried to not only reassure the teen but himself. There was a lot of blood, and he hadn't yet seen just how deep the cut was. "Stay awake, Max"  
"Where-where is... He."  
This confused him. "Who?"  
"I want... Him here"  
"Who do you want, Max?"  
Before he could get an answer, help flooded into the room and Scott was pulled to his feet and shoved to the side, out of the way.  
"If anyone asks, I left the cup," Ben said in hushed tones in case anyone were to hear. "You'll lose your job, I won't."  
He was right. All of the times Scott checked in late, arrived with a hangover and fallen asleep at work, this would ruin him but could he allow his own friend to take the blame for this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xoxo


End file.
